


We Are Young... Bloods (Song Fic)

by MyChemicalFallOutBoyRomance



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Adult Content, Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Asshole Pete Wentz, Domestic Violence, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Established Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Frerard, M/M, One Shot, Peterick, Song Lyrics, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 06:22:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12426804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyChemicalFallOutBoyRomance/pseuds/MyChemicalFallOutBoyRomance
Summary: Fuelled with drink and drugs, Pete finds himself soul searching about his relationship with Patrick.A song fic based on We Are Young by Fun.





	We Are Young... Bloods (Song Fic)

**Author's Note:**

> So one day I'm sat in my local coffee shop, just sipping on tea (cos I'm cool as fuck) and 'We Are Young' by Fun starts playing. And then this whole fic just unfolds in my head.  
> Obviously the fic is based around the lyrics of the song with some tangents to show the full extent of the story.  
> As always, I'd appreciate any and all feedback either here or on Twitter @MCFOBR  
> Thanks for reading, sweeties :)

I walk, shuffle really, out of the toilets then stop, clinging on to the door frame for support. The taste of vomit fresh in my mouth and my head spinning. I know I need to work things out, get my story straight.

I’ve left Gerard and Frank still huddled in the stall, stooped over the toilet arguing over the last line. I’ve had enough; well, too much really if I’m honest. 

I see Patrick, sat where I left him on the tall stool by the bar. He looks so small and vulnerable, his tiny frame balancing on the high seating. Right now, I regret everything.  
Not just because there’s a guy sat opposite him, in my seat. Fuck, is he flirting with Trick? No, not flirting, he’s pointing though… at his face. It’s a cop. I notice his uniform now despite his casual pose and the stupid mirrored Aviators perching on his head.

The idiot fucking cop points again, right at the scar of Patrick’s cheekbone. I can tell he’s asking him about it because Patrick is looking down and shifting in his seat. He’s embarrassed; probably both because the good looking cop is talking to him and because he doesn’t want to say that I gave that scar to him months ago.

I didn’t mean to hit him… not leave a mark like that anyway. I was too drunk, too high… like always. Patrick asked me where I’d been since I should have been home hours before and I didn’t think he deserved to know. When I wouldn’t answer he tried to grab me. Only it wasn’t grabbing, he was just trying to hold my hand; softly in a loving and supportive way. I didn’t understand though and I lashed out, slapped him across his stupid face.

He didn’t cry, not that time, not in front of me anyway. My ring must have grazed his cheekbone and the wound was instantly trickling red. He stared into my eyes and I could see, even in my wretched state, the light behind them had gone. He walked away then and locked himself in the bathroom… he stayed there all night.

But tonight, we are trying to forget. We want to move on, put all the awful shit behind us. This is why I’m in the bar, out with Patrick and our friends. I’ve tried so many times for forgiveness; subtle things like making his favourite dinner or saying how nice he looks unprompted. I’ve outright asked, begged when I’ve been in between drinks but my apologies are always weak, full of holes. And it’s never long until I’m wasted again and he’s threatening to walk away.

I wish I could take it back though, I really am sorry and I love him. If I can make it over to him without falling on my face then I’ll tell him that.

As I get closer the cop sees me. Patrick says something; I can’t tell what but it makes the cop get up and walk away, the opposite direction to me. It’s my chance, I know that. I have to tell him.

I make it back to my stool, almost tripping when I try to climb it but Patrick steadies me. As soon as he knows I’m stable though he removes his hand from my leg. I look into his eyes and all I can see is disappointment and shame.

“Patrick. Trick, I have to tell you…” I start but then forget what I was meant to tell him.

“What, Pete?” Patrick’s voice is harsh (I deserve that) his furrowed brows and set jaw tell me he is quickly losing patience.

“I just… I feel like I’m gonna fall. Not just now but always. You don’t let me though. And you need to know this. Know that if you’re gonna fall… if you feel like falling down then I won’t let you. You know? I’ll carry you home, baby.” It sounds like a garbled mess and I hope he understands me.

“What are you talking about?” Patrick’s lips do that pouting thing they do when he’s questioning something, trying to understand, and it warms my heart.

“We can do this, baby. Get through this. We are young and we can make it. It’s our world, you know? Let’s set it on fire, not burn it. No, no. Me and you,” I poke his chest for emphasis, probably too hard and I wobble on the stupid stool.

“You’re not making any sense,” Patrick says softly, ducking his head. I realise I’m being loud, people are looking at us. I don’t care.

“We can do it, baby. We can burn so bright, like the motherfucking sun!” I grin at Patrick, hoping he understands.

“Okay. We can,” Patrick agrees a tight smile on his face. It feels fake but I want it to be real so I carry on, trying to convince him.

“I know I haven’t been the best for you. There’s probably other people you’ve got that want you, that are better than me,” I say even though Patrick is shaking his head.

“No,” he says seriously but I know he’s lying. I know Frank likes him.

“I guess… I just thought that we could be together. Maybe we’ll always be falling apart but maybe we could find new ways to do it, together.” I’m not sure the words are clear enough and Patrick looks confused so I reach into my back pocket. I pull out the bottle, the prescription strength painkillers I bought from my usual guy.

“You shouldn’t take those,” Patrick says and that disappointment is back.

“Not me, us. A new way to fall apart, together,” I shake the bottle as I speak so he knows it’s full, that I haven’t started without him.

“You know I don’t take drugs,” Patrick reminds me with a sigh.

“A new way,” I repeat, losing some enthusiasm since he doesn’t seem to be on board with my plan of having an amazing, drug-fuelled time together.

“Our friends are back,” Patrick says hastily, looking over my shoulder, “put them away and let’s have a drink instead.”

“Just a drink?” I didn’t mean to sound so angry but my voice isn’t doing what I want it to. I shove the pills back into my jeans.

“A drink!” I hear Gerard and Frank cheer behind me but I don’t turn to look at them. I’m focussed on Patrick; he’s got his fake mask painted on, pretending everything is okay because he doesn’t want to make a scene in front of people… because he’s embarrassed by me.

“A drink! Yes, a drink,” even I can hear the sarcasm in my voice. Patrick does but he’s too slow to stop me acting. I whip my hand out and snatch the bottle of vodka from the bar girl as she’s pouring out shots.

She screams, calls me and asshole and tries to reach over the bar to get it back. It’s mine though so I swing my arm out, slap her across her face with my free hand. 

She recoils. She screams. Patrick screams. I hit him too. Not a slap this time, a real punch. His nose explodes across his face and his hands fly up to defend himself. Frank rushes forward towards Patrick and somehow Gerard has me held tight against his chest, restraining me.

“Get off him!” I scream at Frank. His hands are all over Patrick and it makes my blood boil.

“Calm the fuck down,” Gerard whispers in my ear. 

Despite the music, the screaming and the chaos, I hear him clearly and body responds if not my head. I feel myself go limp, the only muscle that doesn’t obey is the hand still gripping the bottle. I’m still screaming though; I can hear my voice calling Frank a whore, telling Patrick he deserved it and he should be happy that I’ve improved his face again.

I don’t fight as Frank ushers Patrick out of the bar, I let Gerard keep hold of me… even in this state I know I could do more damage to Patrick, and probably Frank too, if Gerard let me go now.

“We are young!” I scream pointlessly after them as the crowd parts to let them through “We can burn bright! Set the world on fire!”  
“Shut your fucking mouth,” Gerard growls. Then he lifts me, picks me up from the stool and drags me through the still parted crowd. Everyone stares, everyone mutters as we pass so I spit at them, kick my legs in the hope I can hurt a few of them.

Once we’re outside in the cool air and light of the moon, all of the fight leaves me. I finally stop screaming and I’m only on my feet because Gerard is holding me up. His face is furious and for a fleeting second I’m almost scared of my best friend.

“You’re a fucking mess, Pete. You need to sort yourself out and leave Patrick the fuck alone,” he says, right in my face with his voice full of venom. I know he’s right but I can’t admit it.

“I’ve got no reason to run,” I hiss back.

“Pathetic,” Gerard says with disdain. He lets go of me, shoving me back against the wall. He doesn’t look back as he walks away from me.

I see them all, as I slump against the wall and slowly slide down to the ground, they are walking away. Frank has his arm around Patrick, holding him up… carrying him home.   
I know nobody will come to carry me home. I’m waiting for some angels but I know they’re never going to arrive. My fingers grips the ice cold bottle of vodka in my hand… why have they let me keep this? And the bulge in my back pocket… that bottle of pills. It sounds far off but I think I can hear the choir.

I know now, I won’t need anyone to carry me home… ever again.


End file.
